Something Ate My Toes on Christmas Eve
by Janette Morgan
Summary: An eight year old girl becomes quite attached to her Christmas present, despite his continual fondness for chewing. Title is a play on Something Barked on Christmas Morning. Oneshot, no pairings.


Something Ate My Toes on Christmas Eve 

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I'll never forget that Christmas.

I don't think anybody will. It was, indisputably, the weirdest ever to cross the face of the Earth.

But when that tall, skinny fellow slid down the chimney as though he were born for such movements, I laughed. Being eight years old, I'd never seen Santa Claus before, and thus the idea of the plump old elf being, in reality, one of the more graceful beings in existence was a very entertaining thought.

I didn't think that for very long, though. See, I figured that, despite the delicious irony, those reports of Santa had to come from somewhere, and thus this guy couldn't really be Santa Claus. Maybe he was a relative, I decided. Although it kind of freaked me out that he didn't have any eyes, but only just.

As it was, I was up this particular night for one reason only: I couldn't sleep. The excitement of Christmas had gotten to me. So I'd come in and was basking in the glow of the little colored lights, when this guy came popping in through the fireplace, quite ignorant of the smoldering log.

He looked at me for a moment, then grinned widely. "Hello, little lady!"

It was the tone of his voice that got me. It was so warm and happy -- why couldn't Mall Santas sound like that? Even if he wasn't Santa, I knew then that he must at least be one of his helpers. When he handed me a box wrapped in white paper with little pumpkins, I figured that there were so many good kids this year that he'd run out of Christmas wrap, even though he probably could have found some more at the corner store.

Anyway, he left with a peculiar laugh that I really don't remember now, and I stared for a moment at the box he'd given me. The room was silent, and suddenly I felt kind of nervous. Apprehensive, even. This was due, in part, to some peculiar sounds emenating from inside the box, and suddenly I wasn't sure I wanted whatever was in there.

But it was Christmas, right? And hey, my parents were asleep. I could open it now, and there would be plenty of presents from other people later. Besides, it was Santa's present, so it was special.

I ripped off the paper - after all, half the fun of opening presents was the mess you made - and opened the box. Immediately, something popped its head out and stared at me with a sort of pathetic look. The first thing I really noticed was that it was pretty cute. The second thing I noticed was that it was a dog, and finally I realized that it was missing its right ear.

By the time the little monster started barking its head off at me, I'd determined that it was probably a poor tortured puppy that Santa had decided needed a home. Of course, at eight years old, I wasn't a dog person, but the poor little guy had probably been shut up in the box for awhile. So I pulled him out and looked him over. He was missing patches of fur in a few spots, and one of his paws looked... now that I think back on it, like it had recently undergone major surgery.

Then he wriggled out of my grip and started biting. Not hard bites, but decidedly aggravating. And as most eight-year-olds don't like being chewed on by small dogs, and I was a normal eight-year-old, I let out a horrible squeal and climbed up from the floor.

The terror was not deterred, and began biting at my ankles. Now feeling panicked, I began to run away from him. He kept up easily. So I ran to the bathroom, slipped inside and shut the door.

When I turned around, there he was nibbling at my toes. I opened the door again, but he seemed intent on hanging around my feet no matter where I went. So I picked him up and grabbed his head in a desperate attempt to hold it away from anything particularily chewable. One might think it difficult for an eight-year-old to pick up a dog whom they knew to be intent on eating them, but it's actually quite easy when you know there's no other way to keep him off.

It was then that I noticed his orange collar. Holding his face with one hand, I used the other to feel around the collar. See if there was a tag or something. I found one, but all it said was "Daniel Abercrombie".

Naturally, my first idea was: What kind of name is that for a dog? But I had other things to worry about, because when Daniel Abercrombie couldn't bite, he started barking again. At this rate, my parents would wake up. I dropped the little hairball, opened the door just a crack and squeezed through, shutting it squarely behind me. This time, I managed to escape the dog.

I couldn't believe it. _This_ was my Christmas present? He was a monster! Having apparently realized that I'd evaded him, he started barking again, louder and squeakier than before. It was the kind of horrible sound that rips through the ears of distressed young girls. So I thought to myself, maybe I could hold him off with something. Give him something else to chew on. Quick as I could, I ran back to the front room and threw open the coat-closet door. There, in a box on the floor, was the collection of old gloves. I grabbed one and ran back to the bathroom.

Daniel Abercrombie's good ear popped up a bit when he saw the glove, and he immediately set himself to chewing on it. I was, to say the least, relieved, and decided I probably shouldn't leave him in the bathroom. So I picked him back up, careful not to dislodge the glove, and brought him back into the living room. I set him down by the Christmas tree, and had to admit he actually looked pretty cute chewing on an old glove in the multicolored lights.

Then it struck me that he might be hungry. That might explain why he was so intent on chewing. A bit miffed that I hadn't thought of it earlier, I went into the kitchen and got a bowl. What was I going to feed him? As I said, I wasn't a dog person. I had no clue. So I got a couple of hot dogs and cut them up into the bowl, and brought the stuff out to Daniel Abercrombie the Chewing Monster.

He ate the hot dogs quite happily. And then went after my fingers. I suppose they probably had the scent on them, but at the time I was simply disgruntled. I tried to shove him off, but he didn't budge. I started squealing again as he pounced on me in entirety, nibbling on my hands.

Then he found the glove again, and went after that. Feeling much relieved, I sat up and wiped my slobber-covered hands on my pants. Then I frowned. I didn't want a dog for Christmas, much less one that seemed inclined to eat me. Sure, he was probably the cutest little guy I'd ever seen, but he was still a ravaging monster... or maybe just an abused puppy. His ear-and-a-half were perked up, and there seemed to be a happy gleam in his big dark eyes as he chewed on the glove. Maybe he was just playing.

Then he lost interest in the glove and discovered anew my bare feet.

When Santa Claus abruptly popped down the chimney, I was still trying to avoid Daniel Abercrombie's overexuberant teeth. Quick as a flash, Santa grabbed the dog and held him back.

I knew this was the real guy. He was big and fat, with a long white beard, and kind of ugly. "Did Jack Skellington give this to you?" he wanted to know.

I frowned at him. "Jack who?"

"The skeleton, in the red suit."

I nodded. That certainly explained a lot about the weird guy with no eyes.

"I'm terribly sorry about that," he said, sliding his sack off his shoulders and reaching into it. "There'd been a horrible mix-up. You were supposed to have this."

I looked at the box he held out. It was a lot like my old one, but decorated with Christmas trees instead of pumpkins. Then I looked back at the dog, who was now chewing on the hem of Santa's coat.

I made my choice. I reached out and grabbed Daniel Abercrombie, pulling him close to me as he chewed anew on my hand. I looked at Santa Claus and said, in a simple, clear voice, "Mine."

Eight-year-olds can be pretty weird. I didn't want a dog for Chrismas. And I wasn't much of a dog person, but Daniel Abercrombie wasn't really much of a dog either -- more like a ridiculously cute ball of fur with teeth. I think, though, that I just didn't want to give up my present.

Either way, I got to keep the monster, and my poor ankles are still paying for it.

THE END


End file.
